


Transformation

by PhantomLore



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Bad end, Body Horror, Gen, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 09:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomLore/pseuds/PhantomLore
Summary: Wilson burns the food.Set during Gorge event.





	Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> Hey heed the tags yo. Also this is really bad cause I just wanted to write this idea so like if you’re looking for some good writing it’s not here lol

  Wilson’s heart turned to ice when the smell of burnt food hit his nose. He whipped his head towards the nearby oven, and sprinted towards the casserole dish, throwing the hoe aside.

  The contents were spilling over, all crusted and brown down the sides of the dish and onto the heating element. It was ruined.

  Wilson began hyperventilating a bit, before glancing upwards at the gaping maw of teeth, peering down from above. Would there be time to cook another dish? He’d only been tilling ground for a few minutes, pasta wasn’t supposed to burn that quickly!

  He grabbed the burnt mix of cheese and flour, tilting it this way and that to try and find some part of it that wasn’t burned to a crisp, but to no avail. It was charred all the way through.

  His hands began to tremble, and he threw the pan at the ground, where it landed with a _squelch_ in the mud. Wilson covered his face with his hands.

  “Watch the pan for a minute, dear,” she had said, “I’ve just got to grind up some of our wheat. You can take care of that, can’t you?”

  ...Apparently not.

  Wilson clenched his fists at his sides. He had to make this right. They needed a pasta dish, so he’d make one, and that would be that. He whirled around, and wrenched the door of the nearby safe open. It had some flour in it, along with one clove of garlic. Garlic noodles. That was a thing, right? He threw them into the casserole dish, right on top of the burnt mess from the last meal. He didn’t have time to clean it out properly, so he would just have to make do with a dirty, crusty pan.

  He had just finished putting it back in the oven when Ms. Wickerbottom returned, her hands dusty with flour, several small packages in tow. She greeted him with a tired smile.

  Wilson tried to look inconspicuous, while blocking the front of the oven with his body, although it was a futile effort. She seemed to catch on immediately that something was off. Wickerbottom raised an eyebrow impatiently, before asking, “So? Is the fettuccine ready yet?”

  Wilson gave a nervous smile. “Ah! Yes, well, I was just going to check on it now, however since you seem to be the expert chef around here, I thought perhaps you would like to do the honours!”

  ...Okay, now he was in for it.

  He moved aside, laughing nervously as Ms. Wickerbottom opened the front of the oven. She carefully took the casserole dish out, and she reached for the lid.

  Just then, a deafening roar shook the ground, and both survivors rushed to clamp their hands over their ears. The pan was released from the woman’s hold, spilling the ingredient soup out into the mud. Realizing her mistake, Wickerbottom gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in horror.

  “No, no, no no no...” she whispered, scooping the crusty, muddy, squishy mess back into the casserole dish. She picked a twig out of it delicately, before giving Wilson a frantic, hopeless look.

“I... This is all my fault, I must not have used the right ingredients, o-or maybe... I’m so, so sorry, dear. There’s no way of saving this dish. Do we have anything in the safe, maybe there’s-“

  Wilson placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “We have to give it something, there’s no time. And this is all we have,” he gestured at the gloppy monstrosity in her hands.

  He smiled grimly at her, knowing that she wasn’t at fault at all. This was all on him, and his inability to help with a menial task such as ‘watch the food’. But he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

  He grimaced. “Got any salt?”

  She sighed and closed her eyes, pulling out a handful of coarse powder from her pocket, dousing the plate thoroughly. They had a silver plate nearby, which was quickly saddled with the ‘pasta’. She stood up straight, face a stern mask as she handed the plate to the mother goat, who had been watching with sadness in her eyes. Even she knew it was hopeless, but the goat placed the dish on the altar anyway.

  A blinding light shone from above, and the sludge was shot up into the sky, into the awaiting jaws of the Gnaw. It snapped its’ jaws shut, chomping twice, before letting out an ungodly _shriek_ of anger, louder than anything Wilson had heard before in his life. And he knew. It was over for them.

  They were both going to die. Struck by lighting, torn apart, somehow they were about to meet their end. All they could do was wait.

  It came in the form of a sudden pain in his gut, sending him to his knees. From there it spread, into his lungs and out until it it covered the entirety of his body. It felt like his lungs were _shrivelling_. It felt like his insides were being stirred around. It felt as though his skin was _peeling off_ , and when he looked at his arm, he realized that was _exactly_ what was happening. Pieces of his skin were peeling off, not unlike how a reptile would shed it’s skin. Underneath the peeling skin there were _scales_ , tiny, olive-coloured things that were soft and sensitive, and seemed to be growing in size and in numbers, covering all of his arm that he could see.

  The faint webbing between his fingers seemed to be straining against his gloves, and he ripped them off with shaking hands, unsteady from the pain coursing through his system. He watched as his hands seemed to almost _atrophy_ , becoming less developed, his thumbs shrivelling up and disappearing altogether. Scales began to cover his hands as well, murky green replacing his stark white skin. His fingernails simply fell out, and their places were taken by yellow, blunt claws. He hardly felt it, preoccupied with the churning going about in his insides.

  Next was his eyes. They began to blur, and his eye sockets seemed to somehow become _shallower_ , until he felt as though his eyes were about to pop out of his head. He felt as though he wanted to cry, but wasn’t sure if he was even able to anymore.

  Wilson’s teeth began to fall out, one by one falling into the mud below where he was hunched over, and new, sharp ones pierced through his gums to replace them, filling his mouth with blood. He attempted to spit out the taste of copper, but his lips seemed to have changed as well, and he couldn’t do much more than let out a wet gurgle.

  His hair began falling out, also being replaced with the now-familiar scales that encompassed his body. His nose began to recede, until it was nothing but two holes in the front of his face. His ears flattened, becoming long, ugly fins on each side of his head. He could hardly think through the pain of it all.

  All he could hear in his head was a chorus of ‘this is not right, this is not natural, there is no way this should be happening’. He breathed in short gulps, trying to get air into his fragile, now-underdeveloped lungs. He didn’t attempt to get up, curling in on himself in the mud.

  There was no point in fighting it.

  Wilson thought of Wendy, all alone in the woods, not knowing the cause of the beasts sudden rage, just a _child_ going through this unimaginable horror without anyone to comfort her. He thought of Wickerbottom, his trusted friend, believing that this was her fault, that she alone had doomed them all to this terrible, terrible fate.

  But most of all, he thought of home. He thought about how he would never get to go home again, never get to see his pet mice that lived with him in his attic, never get to experiment or invent anything ever again. He thought about how he’d never get back to England, instead he was stuck here, in this disgusting body, in the muck with his friends which to whom he had given the same terrible transformation.

  This was all his fault.

  And there was nothing he could do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, this is bad and also it’s 2am so I didn’t proofread this that well but it’s ok


End file.
